


(Still) The Addict

by triforcelegends8



Series: The Meeting Of Sherlock Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Drugs, Gen, M/M, Or you can interpret it how you want, Platonic Relationships, Recreational Drug Use, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2570111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforcelegends8/pseuds/triforcelegends8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meeting Lestrade was the best thing to ever happen to Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Still) The Addict

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my new The Meeting of Sherlock Holmes series. I will post them over time and then, once they are all posted, will reorder them to my liking. They do not have a connected plot to each other. Each can be read as a stand-alone.

Greg Lestrade was walking briskly down the sidewalk of London’s busy, crowded city Greg Lestrade was walking briskly down the sidewalk of London’s busy city wearing a black suit with a grey tie and comfortable, yet stylish shoes. His faded, dark-tan trench coat hung heavy on his broad shoulders, protecting him somewhat from the absolutely freezing weather. He could feel his ears stinging and could see his breath as puffs of vapor in the air. 

Having just received a call of a public disturbance caused by someone who was possibly under the influence of drugs, Lestrade left his office gladly. He had been cooped up in the small room for the whole day and was going to use any excuse to leave- even if that meant dealing with a junkie. He sighed and ran his hand through his short, greying hair and roughly shoved his other hand in his coat pocket. He hated dealing with rowdy blokes who were using. Not only were they unpredictable, but they had no control of their own strength, making them more than a disturbance. 

He walked in front of an alley way and glanced into its entrance. Sitting next to a pile of trash and a stack of soggy boxes was a slender man wearing worn, black trousers and a torn white t-shirt with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He had a scruff of a beard and greasy, curly black hair, which almost fell to his shoulders. 

Lestrade halted at the edge of the alley way entrance and, resting his hands at his sides, walked over to the slender man. He saw the man turn his head toward the DI, stiffen slightly, and turn back away from Lestrade. 

“Afternoon,” Lestrade greeted politely with his hands of his hips as he stood in front of the man. There was no response. Lestrade sighed and glanced around the alley quickly. “Will you stand up for me?” Lestrade asked after a few moments of silence. The man only folded into himself even more, trying to disappear into the stack of boxes he was sitting next to. 

Lestrade pulled out his badge and informed the man that he was, in fact, a policeman. “Detective Inspector Lestrade. Why don’t you go ahead and stand up for me?” he ordered as he put the badge away. The man complied, keeping his head low. 

The man was tall. And saying he was tall was an understatement. Lestrade thought himself above average height, yet this man was towering above him. He was also very lanky, but some would say he was unhealthily skinny. With his lack of muscle and fat, he appeared to be smaller than the DI, even though he stood tall like a giant.   
“Where were you just a few minutes ago?” Lestrade asked as he bent down slightly to try and look into the man’s eyes. 

After a brief hesitation, the man answered quietly, “… Here.” 

“’Course you were,” Lestrade mumbled. “What’s your name?”  
“… Sher- Shezza,” the man replied softly. 

“Mmhm… Why don’t you tell me your real name? I’m sure I can go ask the store owner…”

Lestrade heard the man huff under his breath and then heard the strong reply of, “Sherlock.” 

“Well, Sherlock,” Lestrade said as he smiled, “I got a call from the store owner down the street from here telling me you were causing quite the disturbance. Is that true?”   
“What do you consider a disturbance?” the man asked lowly, his head still down. 

“Well, according to the store owner, you were yelling, throwing items at the customers, and saying vulgar insults to anyone who walked by. Care to tell me if that’s true or not?”   
Sherlock slowly lifted his head and glanced at the DI before saying, “I never yelled or threw anything, no.” 

“And the insults?” Lestrade questioned with a raised eyebrow. 

Sherlock shook his head and chuckled. “You can’t arrest people for insulting others.”

“True,” Lestrade agreed, “but you can be arrested for drug use.”

Sherlock opened his mouth and took a breath in, but said nothing. He turned his head to the side, away from the DI. 

“Have anything to say?” Lestrade asked with a frown. He guessed that Sherlock was looking for an escape right about now and might run at any time. Lestrade dropped his hands from his hips and let them hang loosely at his sides, ready to grab the man if need be, and widened his stance if he needed to jump into a chase quickly. “Sherlock,” Lestrade warned. 

Suddenly Sherlock snapped his head up to the DI and silver blue-green eyes met light grey ones. “You work at Scotland Yard. You obtained your detective inspector position a mere 2 months ago, possibly after saving the life a comrades and proving reliable in all chases time and time again. You’re having problems with your wife, most likely because you know she’s up to something, probably an affair. You’re right handed, you ate take-out for lunch,” Sherlock took a sniff of the air and continued, “from Taki’s. You—“ Sherlock cut off when Lestrade held up a hand and wore a bewildered expression. 

“How did you know… How did you guess all that?” Lestrade asked incredulously. 

“I didn’t guess. I saw,” Sherlock replied confidently. 

Lestrade shook his head, enthralled with this man’s seemingly magical abilities. “How though?”

“I deduced it from you.” 

“And? What do you mean by that?” 

Sherlock sighed then took in a deep breath and launched into his simple explanation, so the DI would understand easily. When he was finished, Lestrade’s eyes were wide with disbelief and somewhat adoration. “That’s…” Lestrade uttered after a few minutes of appalled silence, “quite a gift you’ve got there.” Sherlock said nothing. 

Lestrade could guess at why the store owner called the Yard. If Sherlock was using his gift in the way he did the Lestrade, it could be viewed as offensive or rude. If he was rolling off his ‘deductions’ to everyone he saw in the store… It would be _quite_ the disturbance. Lestrade was actually surprised at himself that he didn’t arrest Sherlock out of spite for stating that his wife was cheating on him. He suddenly felt pity for the man. He knew all drug users used for one reason or another, and maybe this man’s reason was because he was tormented and shunned for using his gift. 

“Wrong,” Sherlock said loudly and flippantly, snapping the DI out of his thoughts. 

“Sorry?” Lestrade asked, confused. 

“I don’t use because I’m ‘sad’ no one cares for my deductions. Wrong.” After he spoke, Sherlock instantly regretted even opening his mouth. He just confirmed he used. He didn’t confirm what he used, just that he used, and that would be enough for the DI to take him down to the Yard and get a drug test done on him. 

Lestrade sighed and scratched his head roughly. “I wish you didn’t admit that… You know I’ll have to take you down to the Yard now, don’t you?”

Sherlock nodded solemnly, his lips a thin line. Lestrade stared at Sherlock for a few seconds before asking, “What were you using?”

“Heroin,” Sherlock replied softly. 

Lestrade sighed tiredly and shook his head slowly. “How long you been using?”

“Does it matter?” 

“No, I guess not,” Lestrade replied, his eyes not focused on anything, his mind preoccupied on what his gut was telling him to do. “Ever been to rehab?”

“No. I don’t need to go. I’m not addicted.” Sherlock said, a bit defensively. 

“But that’s just what the addict would say, isn’t it?” 

“It’s also what someone would say if they aren’t addicted,” Sherlock retorted. 

A silence ensued in which Lestrade took the time to think about what to do with this man and Sherlock took the time to deduce what he thought the DI would do with him. Sherlock didn’t want to go to jail. He knew he could get out of being thrown in jail, only after much kissing up to his government-position-holding older brother, but he didn’t want to rely on his brother to keep out of trouble. Once Mycroft found out that Sherlock was using, he refused to let him in on any cases whatsoever. Sherlock didn’t even use enough to actually get high, just enough to give himself a slight buzz. But Mycroft didn’t see it that way. He so averse to drug-users and drugs themselves that he refused to help Sherlock at all until he was off the drug. 

It’s not like the cases Mycroft gave him were that stimulating anyways. He’d rather use heroin than deal with his older brother’s boring governmental problems. All Sherlock was doing for him was his job. Mycroft was capable, yet lazy. Laziness seemed to run in the family. 

Yet, there was only so much time Sherlock would have before he ran out of money. And then what? Would he resort to stealing money? Mugging people? Would he end up killing someone to get his next fix? He wasn’t lying to Lestrade when he said he wasn’t addicted. At least not physically. Psychologically though… That was another story. Sherlock knew he would never be able to deal with people or the lack of mental stimulation and heroin provided that easily. All he had to do was find a dealer or a second-hand dealer, give them the money, find a secluded place, and use. It was much easier than going out and persuading people to let him see this murder case or that break-in. Sherlock was becoming desperate and he knew it. Lestrade seemed to be his guardian angel for the time being, come to save him from destroying himself. 

Sherlock swallowed past the pride stuck in his throat and spoke. “How often do cases you receive go unsolved?” 

Lestrade raised his head to Sherlock and furrowed his brows. “What?”

“How often do—“ 

“No, heard you. I mean… why? Why do you care?” Lestrade asked, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“I… My brain needs to be active almost all the time. That’s why I use. It stimulates my mind. Before they found out, I would solve cases for someone, who I won’t name, and it would provide the minimum stimulation I needed. But now they- they’ve cut me off. I… I’m asking…” Sherlock paused and cursed the world for forcing him to say these next few words, “I’m _begging_ you- let me solve any cases you and your team can’t.”

Once Sherlock was finished with his speech, the two men stood in silence for what felt like hours to Sherlock. He anxiously awaited DI Lestrade’s answer and hoped he would choose to let Sherlock see and solve any cases they had. 

After a few more moments of eerie silence, Lestrade finally spoke, “You know you can’t join to Yard if you’ve used before, right?”

Sherlock shook his head slowly. “I’m not asking to join the Yard. I’m asking to solve cases. Think of me as a private detective, but for only the Yard.”

Lestrade furrowed his brows in confusion. It took him a few minutes to finally realize what Sherlock meant, and when he did his brows shot up past his hairline. “You’re saying- let you see the details of the case and the crime scenes and the bodies and test results- all so you can keep from doing drugs?”

Sherlock swallowed, afraid Lestrade would refuse him and then take him to jail. “I- yes. But I wouldn’t tell anyone and it would help keep crime down and criminals locked up in the long run, and isn’t that what you really want?” 

“You are aware that letting civilians in to see cases is… well, illegal. Understand?” Lestrade stated firmly. 

“I do. And no one will find out. And if they do… I have connections and your job would never be in jeopardy. I- Please,” Sherlock begged, pleading even more intensely with his eyes. He was just about ready to get on his hands and knees and grovel to this man to let him in on cases. Almost, but not quite. 

“And what makes you think you can solve the cases we can’t?” 

“Oh, please,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. “I was able to deduce your entire life of the past few months just from looking at you. Don’t you think I would be able to do the same with crime scenes? Be able to deduce how tall a person is, their gait, their build- all from just two footprints?”

Lestrade folded his arms, feeling quite avers to the whole idea of letting in some… some _junkie_ in to look at and- possibly- solve cases. “I don’t know…” Lestrade mumbled as he scratched his head. 

“Just give me a chance. Let me prove to you that I can solve any unsolved case you have or any new case you’re having trouble with. Please.” 

Lestrade looked at Sherlock- really looked at him. He didn’t appear to be lying or trying to deceive him. There really wasn’t any reason why he would ask to solve cases other than to solve the cases for the hell of it- unless he was a reporter, which didn’t seem that likely. The gleam in his eyes was hopeful and earnest, and his face was contorted into a painful expression of fear. 

After a few more moment’s contemplation Lestrade sighed and granted Sherlock’s wish. “Alright,” he said lowly. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he was about to jump for joy when he thought of how odd that would seem to Lestrade, and Sherlock didn’t need to give the man any reasons to think him crazy. “I- Do you have any now?”

“Yeah, but I’m not letting you onto a crime scene or anywhere near evidence like that,” Lestrade said pointing to Sherlock’s clothes and fanning an invisible smell away from his face. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

That day, Sherlock solve not only the current murder case the Yard had, but long-forgotten serial, robbery, and rape cases. The number of cases he solved that day totaled to 22. Since his mind had been on a vacation of sorts and he was still being affected by the heroin in his system, he was able to solve them lightning fast. He was grateful to Lestrade. He knew he was and that he owed Lestrade as much as he could give- possibly even his life. From then on, Lestrade let Sherlock see, solve, deduce and do whatever else he did to find the solution to cases. Meeting Lestrade was the second best thing that has ever happened to Sherlock. 


End file.
